All Of You
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: Delving into the minds and thoughts of Adam, Joan, Bonnie and Grace and others throughout and after the episode 2x19 Trial And Error. CHAPTER 21 UP.
1. You know about Joan

**All Of You**

_by TeeJay_

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**Summary:**  
Delving into the minds and thoughts of Adam, Joan, Bonnie and Grace (and others) throughout the episode 2x19 "Trial And Error".

**Author's note:**  
I am still stuck on Adam and Joan breaking up. The episode "Trial And Error" was so emotion laden that I needed to rewatch it a couple of times. And somehow I had a need to dive into the minds of the persons involved in what happened between Adam and Joan, and maybe try to explain some of their actions and reactions. I first stopped this after the end of the episode, but decided I would actually continue further. I'm not sure which point would be a good place to stop, but if you're nice and leave reviews, it'll sure make me write faster.

Also, this is kind of like a photo story, because I put screencaps of the scenes I'm referring to into the text. I am aware that I can't do that here at fanfictionnet, so if you actually want to see the pictures I used, I suggest you read the story on my own server: www.wormhole.de/fanfic/AllOfYou.htm

If you wanna read it here, I will shortly describe each picture, so it's left to your own imagination. But those of you who have seen the episode might know which scenes I'm talking about and might be able to picture them.

The first part of this story is mostly thoughts and little dialogue. This will change when I actually get to the part after the episode ends. Of course I have no more screencaps for this part, so I will just put in imaginary pictures for you paint yourselves. The written parts will also contain more descriptive elements, mainly because this hasn't actually been shown on television. So I needed to describe the settings instead of just using those that had already been visually established.

**Disclaimer: **  
These characters and settings are not mine (except maybe those that weren't in any JoA episode). Nor am I claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. I'm not making any money out of this, although I wish I was.  
The song "All Of You" is also not mine, it's property of Vertical Horizon, RCA Records or whoever had anything to do with the creation, distribution and marketing of this song and the album it's on. And, yes, another Vertical Horizon song to go with one of my fanfics. Love their music, can't help it.

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**_You know about Joan..._**

.:. insert picture of Adam standing outside Bonnie's apartment, leaning his forehead against the wall .:.

**Adam:**

What did I just do? Oh my God, what did I just do? I had sex with Bonnie. Man, it felt good. All that bottled up energy pouring out of me and into her. It felt so good to finally release it.

Why Bonnie? Because she was there, because she wanted it too. I could see it in her cute little doll-like face, in her persistently staring eyes. Her hunger for intimate physical contact mirrored mine. There was just no saying no to that.

It was like I didn't have a choice, my body screamed for it, and I had to give way. But, Goddammit, I _had_ a choice. I was not strong enough to resist.

Did I think of Jane when I had sex with Bonnie? No. This was Bonnie, she was just a hook-up, she would never be special to me. No one would ever be what Jane is to me. Bonnie is not someone I want to talk with for hours. Bonnie is not someone I want to share my art with, or make my art for. Bonnie was just a vessel for my physical needs.

But now, when I think about Jane, bone-deep guilt washes over me. What did I do? Jane can never find out about this, it would kill her. Kill us. I hope she will never find out. I don't think I can do this again. I need to stay away from Bonnie.


	2. Don't I get a hug?

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**_Don't I get a hug?_**

.:. insert picture of Adam hugging Joan in the school yard, his brow furrowed, a troubled look on his face .:.

**Adam: **

'You look like you're gonna hurl.' That's what she said to me. She wasn't far wrong. My stomach turned when I saw the airbrush she got me for our anniversary. She looked so happy, so expectant. And a little disappointed when I didn't joyfully jump up and down or even managed a smile. The exact opposite is what I wanted to do.

When I hugged her, all I wanted to do is let the guilt form those words of apology that had been nagging at my very insides, every minute of every hour that had passed since I had exited Bonnie's apartment. I wanted to break down in front of her and tell her I was sorry, so sorry that nothing could ever undo what I had done. But I couldn't, because I knew it would destroy our love. And the fear of that was bigger than all the guilty feelings put together. So I hugged her, stroked her soft, wavy hair and prayed that I could forget the little freak that had had my body that one time.

**Joan:**

What is up with Adam today? He seems even more subdued than normal. He yelled at an overexcited kid who knocked over my bag when running past me. That is so not Adam. And when he accidentally found the airbrush present, he didn't look happy at all. I had cherished this moment ever since I decided to buy it for him. I was looking forward to the look of surprise on his face, that grateful glint in his eyes, the soft smile that would slowly creep into his tender features when I would give it to him.

But none of that happened. It was like the opposite, actually. He had a sad, dull look on his face, like he was gonna puke. Like I had just punched him in the stomach. I have a hard time believing it was just because we agreed on not giving each other big presents.

When he hugged me, I felt a strange sensation of distance, and yet the need for him to keep me close, show me his affection. But maybe he's just having a bad day. Or dealing with things inside that will eventually bubble out. That's one side of Adam Rove I have learned to accept, he cannot be pressured into talking about what bothers him, he has to come out with it in his own time. Maybe I just need to cut him some slack.


	3. It's just, I cheated on Joan

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**_It's just ... I cheated on Joan..._**

.:. insert picture of Adam staring blankly ahead in one of the outside school hallways with Grace in the background .:.

**Adam:**

I had to tell someone. Who would I tell if not Jane? Grace didn't understand. I thought she would, she's always going on about how people shouldn't own each other. Yes, I wanted her to tell me it was all right, that occasionally you could go to someone other than the person you love to satisfy your physical needs. Phhh, yeah, like hell. How could I ever _think_ it would be all right?

Grace told me exactly what I didn't wanna hear, but what I needed to hear. So, Rove, what are you going to do now? This guilt is going to eat away at you, one piece at a time. Every time you see Jane, touch her, kiss her, you're going to think about what you did behind her back, what you did with someone else because she wouldn't let you. Hard to believe this would ever go away.

**Grace:**

I can't believe it! I can't friggin' believe it! Rove slept with Bonnie! Behind Girardi's back? That idiot, how could he do that to my best friend? And how can he expect me to back him up? He deserves a good whack on the head, if it hadn't been for that look of pure misery on his face.

Then he wants me to not tell Girardi. Great. I'm stuck right there in the middle of my two best friends again. Thank you, Rove. This is what I always dreamed of. As if my own problems aren't enough to handle. And I can't even tell Luke because Girardi is his sister. Oh, that little weasel Rove, I wish I could give him a good brainwash. Let's hope Girardi won't find out, because then it's gonna be hell to pay.


	4. On the outside, looking in

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**_On the outside, looking in..._**

.:. insert picture of Adam standing outside the bookshop Joan works at with Joan in the background, visible through the window .:.

**Adam:**

Everything is different now. When I look at Jane, everything is different. She doesn't know. She looks at me and touches me in her usual affectionate way. She sees and feels the guy she loves, even though I still can't discern what she sees in me. She sees a guy she would never think would cheat on her.

I look at her sitting in the bookstore, ignorant of the horrible thing I have done, the horrible person I have become. She doesn't deserve me. She never deserved me. I wish I could tell her that, but she can't know. I should turn away right now and leave before I hurt her even more, but I so miss her exuberant smile, her loving touch, her eagerness to embrace life. I just need to feel her close to me now, feel with every fiber of my body what I almost threw away. So I take a breath, open the door and go in.


	5. Special projecting

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**_Special projecting..._**

.:. insert picture of Joan and Adam hugging in the bookshop, a distressing look on Adam's face .:.

**Joan:**

Adam still manages to surprise me. He comes into the bookstore and tells me that we can spend more time with each other, now that he's not busy at work anymore. And him coming onto me like that, wow, that's ... I don't know. Now that I think about it, it's a bit odd, considering how moody and distant he seemed in school this morning.

But, hey, I shouldn't complain, right? I should just be glad he wants to spend more time with me and cherish that for as long as it lasts. Sometimes I can't imagine having a more perfect boyfriend than the artistic, considerate and sensitive Adam Rove.

**Adam:**

Special projecting... Yeah. Right. I told Jane that I was done with it now. And I so am. I hold her in my arms, I feel a need rushing over me to hold her like I am never gonna let go of her. I am so scared to lose her, I don't think I could take that.

She was the first and only person to see into my soul, scratch away some of the dust covering it and making it come to the surface and shine. I told Judith once that Jane saved my life after we first met. And what did I do in return? I cheated on her, went behind her back, betrayed her. Betrayed the confidence she put in me, the trust she had in me. Oh, how I wish she could see that I never deserved it.


	6. Like we were

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**_Like we were..._**

.:. insert picture of Adam and Joan talking in a classroom just before mock trial starts .:.

**Adam:**

10 bucks to get us the corner table at Spumani's for our anniversary. 10 bucks to relive old times. It has a whole new meaning to me, a whole other meaning than it has to her. I would give 10 million bucks to take everything back, to turn back time. She thought it was sweet, I could see it in her eyes. I wish I was that sweet guy. But I will try to be from now on, for what it's worth. I will try as hard as I can.

She called me a 'dead man'. She meant Jack in mock trial. For me it meant Adam in real life. I am so dead if she is ever gonna find out about Bonnie.

**Joan:**

He can be so sweet. He actually went to Spumani's and bribed the waiter to get us the old corner table we used to sit at. This will be a fantastic anniversary, even though the surprise present part is already kinda ruined. But first my sweet, perfect boyfriend is going down, _way_ down. In mock trial, that is.


	7. Objection

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**_Objection..._**

.:. insert picture of Adam during mock trial, sitting at the desk next to Grace and Luke (not in  
the picture), his arms folded on the table, his gaze directed at Joan (not in the picture) .:.

**Adam: **

I look at Jane animatedly jumping from her seat to object to Grace interviewing the witness. I can't help but admire her energy, her passion, her liveliness. I study her features and imagine how much more I would have preferred her body to Bonnie's. How much more I still prefer her, want her, long for her. What I want with her is the deep, soul-touching mingling of two bodies becoming one. I could only do that with her, no one else would be able to provide that for me.

And, _BANG_, the guilt comes washing back over me. Adam Rove, you are a cheater, a fraud and a failure. If Jane knew, she would think you are scum. Well, she's right.


	8. Can we talk?

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**_Can we talk?_**

.:. insert picture of Adam, Bonnie and Joan with Bonnie confronting Adam .:.

**Bonnie: **

What the hell is going on with Adam? He sleeps with me and then he just leaves like it never happened. In school he walks by me without even so much as a glance in my direction. It's like I don't exist. I think I deserve at least an explanation for his behavior, so I think I should confront him.

Figures that his always present entourage is there, but I don't care. He owes me an explanation, and I'm gonna get one.

**Adam:**

Not Bonnie, not here, not in front of Jane! She is going to ruin everything. Her doll face looks up at me, accusing. Her voice sprays pure anger. Maybe I treated her unfairly, completely ignoring her. I can kinda understand her reaction, but I did it for my own protection. Or for Jane's? I don't know, I just know that I can't deal with Bonnie right now. I just hope she will go away, leave my life forever.

**Joan:**

What the hell was that all about? What did Bonnie mean, 'I think I deserve that'? Deserve what? For what? I stare at Adam's face, hoping he will give me an answer that will explain everything. He looks to the floor, like he's ashamed of something. I look at Grace, I see her silently exchanging insightful glances with Adam. It's like they know something I don't.

I confront Adam, but he gives me some lame excuse about lost arts supplies. He says she's a freak, in a tone of voice as if that will explain everything. I drill into him with both looks and words, but the stupid mock trial bailiff interrupts the quenching of my thirst for information.

**Adam:**

Oh God, how I hate lying to Jane. But I had to, I had no other choice. Grace's knowing looks, I think Jane knows that something is seriously wrong here. She's not stupid. No, I was. Am. Pathetically, I shrug my shoulders and lie to her. I can see it in her eyes that she won't be satisfied with my superficial, perfunctory lie. How can I make her believe that it's not what she thinks it is? How can I make her believe that when it _is_ what she thinks it is? I stupidly rack my brain for explanations that won't sound phony, but mock trial rescues me. Saved by the bailiff.

**Grace:**

Oh man, Rove is in deep shit. Deep _deep_ shit. I told him I knew what Girardi would think. And she does. I try not to look at Rove, but I can't help signaling to him that things just went from bad to worse. Because Girardi is not stupid. No, she may be a little eccentric sometimes, but she's not stupid. Rove, I really hope you come up with a good explanation to make this turn out right.


	9. I didn't think that far ahead

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**_I didn't think that far ahead..._**

.:. insert picture of Joan interrogating Jack/Adam during mock trial, a tear running down her cheek .:.

**Adam:**

Oh God, she knows. It's like she is ostensibly interrogating Jack about mock trial. But to the both of us her questions are personal, they go much deeper below the surface. I can't look at her, I can't stand seeing the betrayed, yet inquisitive look in her eyes.

She is badgering me with questions, questions that I have no easy answers to. Questions that I am constantly trying to answer for myself, unsuccessfully. I tell her I didn't think about the consequences when I hooked up with Bonnie, that I didn't think that far ahead. It's the truth. It's pathetic, but it's the truth.

'You're lying,' she tells me. Yes, I am. I look at the tears rolling down her cheeks, as she tries to make sense of the situation while what I am trying to explain is sinking in. An overwhelming need to usher everyone from the room is tugging at me, so I can explain everything to her, make her understand that she isn't seeing the whole picture. But 'It wasn't like that,' is all I can utter while I feel tears welling up in my eyes too.

I am trying to find words to answer her accusing, bombarding questions, but they are not forthcoming. Grace puts an end to it by objecting. I hear Jane say that she's done. I look up at her, pleading for her to let me explain. But from the look in eyes I can see that I have hurt her more than I could ever imagine. Please, Jane, I will explain everything to you!

**Joan:**

Clearly, something is going on here that I don't get. Adam and Bonnie? How could I miss that? I see him sitting in the witness stand, pretending to be Jack. He looks like he wants to crawl into a mouse hole and vanish. I ask Jack why he stole the goose from Mrs. Giant, but what I really mean is why Adam and Bonnie... What exactly did he and Bonnie do?

Didn't he realize what he was risking? Clearly he didn't. 'I didn't think that far ahead,' he says. No, Adam, you didn't. Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually? Did you really think you could go and make out with Bonnie behind my back and come back to me, to Jane, when you thought Bonnie wasn't good enough for you?

I hear his feeble attempts at explaining to me what went on. I can see it in his eyes that he is pleading at me to let him explain, but his puppy dog eyes don't work for me anymore. This time he went too far. He can't even come up with anything remotely resembling a reasonable explanation. What I would really like to do is grab his collar and shake it out of him, scream at him, 'Why, why, why, Adam? Why!'

But there are people sitting all around me, reading his and my very lips. When Grace interjects, I realize there is only one way to confront him and get answers: in private. I wipe away the tears that involuntarily sprang from my eyes and sit down, somehow devoid of energy, like a balloon with a small hole that is slowly oozing air.

**Grace:**

This is worse than I imagined. Girardi is interrogating Jack, but she is really interrogating Rove. She knows, and there will be no turning back now. Rove, you messed up royally, no two ways about it. I know I should be doing something, but I can't help but staring at the verbal tug-of-war going on in the mock court room. It's just the three of us who really know what is going on here, I can see the curious and questioning looks of the courtroom occupants drilling into the back of my head.

Luke's questioning, yet confusing look most of all. He urges me to object to Girardi's barrage of questions directed at Jack, and yet at Adam. But I know that she needs answers from him, so I have to let her go on.

I can see her, hear her assassinating Rove in the witness stand. I can't tear my eyes away from it. I feel for both of them, and I'm sorry that what I feared would happen is actually happening. I told Rove that he knew what Girardi would think if she found out. And she does.

The assassination goes on. She raises her voice, demanding answers from Rove. I can see he is struggling for words, for explanations. There is nothing more that can be said and done here that would make sense, so I need to put an end to this right here. Without conviction, I object. Rove, I really hope you can drag yourself out of this mess.


	10. I think we should leave you two alone

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**_I think we should leave you two alone..._**

.:. insert picture of Joan looking at Adam after mock trial ended, Adam having his head buried in his arms on the desk .:.

**Adam: **

Shame. That is all I feel right now. Shame and guilt. All I wanna do is run and hide, get away from this nightmare, make it all go away. I can't look at her, I am afraid of her accusing stares, her harsh words, her soul-piercing questions.

I want to explain this to her, I want to tell her I am sorry, _so_ sorry. That I would take it all back if I could, that I don't love anyone but her. But I'm afraid that she won't understand, that I won't be able to make her understand. How can I ever put this into words that will reach her? How can I ever expect her to forgive me, when she never deserved me in the first place? Oh, I am so scared to lose her for good.

**Joan:**

He can't even look at me. He cheated on me and he can't even look me in the eyes to admit it. What did I do to deserve being betrayed? How could he ever betray the trust I put in him? How could I ever think he was that sweet, loving boyfriend I thought him to be when he was secretly going behind my back with Bonnie, the freak?

Finally, I ask him, confront him. He looks up at me with an expression that normally would have made me gather him in my arms, wanting to make him feel all better. But not now, not here. Not after what he did. The first words to leave his lips are an apology. Or rather a pitiful attempt at one. Is that all you can offer?

He goes on. There goes the explaining. '... That it could just be about sex.' Something inside of me breaks in half when the realization sinks in. He had sex with Bonnie. I thought sucking face, maybe a little harmless making out. But he slept with that stupid little bitch, he actually slept with her!

Incredulous, I think back to when Adam and I stayed the night in his father's camper after the garage festival concert. I should have seen it coming. Or should I? I couldn't give him what he wanted, so he went to the next best little slut to screw her? If there was anything that was really low, this was it. No apology in the world could ever be enough to forgive what he did.


	11. Nobody will ever be what you are to me

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**_Nobody will ever be what you are to me..._**

.:. insert picture of a crying Adam in the foreground and a distressed  
looking Joan in the background in the classroom after mock trial .:.

**Joan: **

How can he say that he loves me? How the hell can he just say that as if it will explain everything, as if it will justify what he did? He gave another woman a part of himself, how could he do that when he loved me?

I wonder how long this has been going on. How long has he been feeding me lies? Special projecting, huh? Now I see. The airbrush, his reaction, his irritation, his moodiness, his visit to the bookstore. With a sudden crystal clarity everything falls into place.

Through a mount of tears, in a shaky voice he tells me he just wants to get over this. He wants to get over this? Is he serious? Can he really be that naïve? Like I'm just gonna snap my fingers and say, 'Hey, you know, Adam, it's fine, as long as you don't do it again.'

I always wondered why they call it 'heartbroken'. Your heart can't break, it's not made from any sort of solid, porous material. But now I know, I feel it deep down inside of me. It was like his words had put pliers around my heart and snapped it in two. It feels like it's breaking into a thousand pieces and it just seems impossible that anyone could ever put it back together, least of all him.

He turns around to face me, takes a few tentative steps towards me, as if he's reaching out. No. You don't have the right to touch me anymore. You just gave away that permit, Adam. We're done. It's over.

**Adam:**

What was I thinking when I believed there was anything I could say that would make her understand, make her forgive me? I realize that with every attempt at explaining, she is slipping further away from me. I can see it in her eyes, in her whole posture that I just dealt her the biggest blow of her life.

What's worse, she never even considered Bonnie and I could go that far. Even now she has more faith in me than I ever deserved. She didn't expect I would actually have sex with anyone other than her. Well, I didn't expect it either, but it kinda just happened. I wish I could find any sort of tangible explanation. But I can't.

She nails it. Hearing me convince myself that what I did was okay. That's what I am doing. That's what makes it worse with every minute, every second, every word that pours from my lips. I wanted to tell her, I wanted that so much. And now I'm losing her anyway. Why didn't I tell her earlier, maybe that would have made a difference?

Tears are streaming down my face, but I don't care. I just wanna get over this. I look at her, plea that she can see how sorry I am, how I would give anything, and I mean _anything_ to make it go away, to take it back. That I would never do it again, that I would make it up to her and love her from the bottom of my sorry, unworthy little heart.

I have hurt her beyond belief. I knew that before, but I didn't realize how bad that was until now. I took her heart and squashed it like a bug beneath the sole of my foot. Fresh tears shoot into my eyes as she tells me that to my face.

I want to gather her up in my arms and tell her that we can work this out, that we can make it past this. But she pulls away before I even reach her. I say her name, the one that only I can call her, the one that means something special to the both of us. But it says so much more than just addressing her, it's a silent plea, a cry for help. But she just ignores it. 'It's over. We're done.' That's what she says before she walks out, tears also fresh in her eyes.


	12. I am throwing punches in the air

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**_I am throwing punches in the air..._**

.:. insert picture Adam crying alone in the classroom after Joan left .:.

**Adam: **

Wearily, I lean against the desk in the now solitary and quiet classroom. I cry like I've never cried before.

I should have expected this. Deep down inside, I knew that if Jane found out, it would ruin everything. But I had clung to the pointless hope that that wouldn't be the case. And I have myself to blame for that, that's the worst part. Not only the guilt and the shame, now I have to live with the blame too. It feels like the weight of the whole world has settled on my shoulders. It's pressing down on me, making it impossible for me to move.

I stand there and cry until no more tears are coming. The image of her face, the look of betrayal and hurt in her eyes has etched itself permanently into my mind's eye. It makes me sick to my stomach. I storm from the classroom to the nearest toilet and retch until the contents of my stomach have been emptied completely. Panting, I kneel in front of the toilet bowl, wiping my mouth. I lean my back against the wall of the cubicle, unable to gather the energy to get up. What should I get up for? There is nothing left in my life now that is worth facing. I just close my eyes and wish I could die right here.

--...---...----...--

**Vertical Horizon**  
**_All Of You_**

So you say  
I'm too quiet  
Holding things  
Up in my head

I say so much  
But you don't buy it  
I don't want to wake up  
Alone in my head

Oh say that you'll never go now  
Don't go  
Don't go

Chorus  
I need a lot of you  
I want a lot of you  
I need a lot of you  
All of you

I tend to think  
I'm getting nowhere  
I drag it out  
Whenever I can

Someday  
I'll get back there  
And find the world  
You dropped from your hand

Oh but some things you'll never show now  
I know  
I know

Chorus

Watch you coming up  
Out on top now  
Watch you coming up

Chorus


	13. Someplace, you still feel that way

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**_Someplace, you still feel that way..._**

.:. insert picture of Joan leaning on OldLady-God's shoulder in the bus with tears in her eyes .:.

**Joan: **

I can't leave the classroom fast enough because I can't take another look at his face. His eyes, his demeanor, his words, his everything seemed to want to tell me that he is sorry for what he did. No, no way he can really be sorry now, can apologize now. He should have thought about this _before_ he went to fuck Bonnie. And how can he even think that I would be able to forgive him that? Ever?

All of this shoots through my brain as I tell him that it's over, turn around and leave as fast as I can. It's like my brain is on overload, while at the same time I feel like everything is happening in slow motion. I push open the door to the school hallway and barely even realize Grace and Luke standing there. Their glances graze me, but I don't really notice, nor care. I wipe at my cheeks to eliminate any traces of my being affected by Adam's confession. I should have been stronger than this, somehow I hate myself for being so weak when it comes to Adam Rove.

I walk, almost run along the hallway. Anything to get out of here, leave it all behind, escape it all. I walk to the bus stop. I just wanna go home. Curl up in my bed and forget this day ever happened. The bus approaches the bus stop almost at the same time as I do. 'How ironic,' I muse, 'That this seems to be perfect timing, when everything else about this days was way, _way_ off.'

I get in, pay the fare and see a familiar old lady sitting in one of the seats, the one next to her vacant. I stop for a second, something inside of me screaming at me to ignore Her, something stabbing painfully at my heart for Her not being there when I needed Her, Him, whatever. But I want answers too, so I sit down next to Her.

I confront Her why She knew and didn't tell me. She says She doesn't interfere. Then what is giving me Her assignments? Is that not interfering? Yeah, right, She always goes on about free will. That I am free to do with Her assignments what I want. When was it that I last believed in good ripples? Nowadays it seems like all that comes out of it are bad ones, tainted ones. Shockwaves that are destroying everything in their path. I feel another one slowly subsiding, leaving only mayhem and ruin in its wake.

If there ever is a time I want answers on why things happen the way they do, it is now. I am yearning for something, _anything_ that will logically explain Adam's actions. Something that will make me believe in him again, something that will account for him betraying me, something that will clear away all the confusion in my head and bring order to the chaos and mess that my life has been turned into today. I just know that She won't be providing them. I ask anyway.

Anger creeps up in me when She is habitually vague, giving me not answers but philosophical ramblings about being alive and pain and loving. Yeah, right. If being alive means feeling this way, then I don't see why I would want to _be_ alive. Maybe this is all a big game, maybe none of this is real. Screw the ripples, screw the assignments, screw You! I tell her that perhaps there is no right and wrong, that humans are all animals who take what they want without looking back. Because Adam certainly didn't look back.

She explains to me about innocence. That it's more than an absence of guilt. That it's having faith that there's goodness in the face of cruelty and pain. I feel Her arms wrapping around me, Her saying that She'll always be there, no matter what. I feel a tiny speck of my faith being restored at hearing these words that make me realize She's right. I rest my head on her shoulder and cry.


	14. Jeez, you're shaking

--...----...----...--

**_Jeez, you're shaking..._**

.:. insert picture of Adam sitting on the toilet stall floor, his back and head  
leaned back against the wall of the stall, his eyes closed .:.

**Adam:**

I don't know how long I have been sitting here. It seems like it takes all the energy I have left to breathe in and breathe out, breathe in and breathe out. I try not to think about Jane, but it's all I can think about. I'm beyond tears. There's only misery now. Gut-wrenching misery that is winding its tentacles around me, squeezing ever harder, not letting me escape from its throes. I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. Breathe in and breathe out.

**Grace:**

I see Girardi leaving the classroom. Her face is smeared with tears, her expression somewhere between angry, hurt and confused. For a second I consider going after her, but I think about Rove. Somehow I have the feeling he needs my support more than Girardi does. I let her go, deciding I will see her at her house later.

I look at Luke, who is standing next to me, a stupid, unknowing look on his face, like a deer looking in confusion at the approaching car. I can see the questions written boldly on his face, like an animated website banner blinking on and off to fight for your attention. I explain to him in so many words that Rove cheated on his sister.

His face falls, I can see that he's angry at Rove for hurting his big sister. I can see him silently clenching his fists, his jaw. He makes a move to enter the classroom Rove is still in, I know what's on his mind. Fist-fighting Rove now seems just wrong, so I grab Luke's arm, hold him back.

I shake my head at him and tell him, 'Don't. Not now.' He looks at me incredulously, as if wanting to ask why. I nudge him to go follow his sister and ask him to make sure she's all right. With somewhat of an understanding glance, he does what he's told. I watch him walking down the hallway in that determined, almost hurried step that he has. Science geek or not, I can't help admire his loyalty and wonder about my own.

My words from Rove's earlier confession to me come popping back into my head. 'Thanks for putting me in the middle of this, I've missed this in my life.' Sometimes it sucks to be me. No, a lot of the time it sucks to be me. Right now more than ever.

For a second I consider going into the classroom, but I should give him a bit more space. As I'm still pondering this, he comes storming out, making for the nearest men's room. I tentatively follow him but stop in front of the now closed door. I hear the retching sounds reverberating in the tiled and cold room. A soul-deep sigh escapes my lips.

After a few minutes I glance at the sign with the stylized male person next to the door and consider for a moment that I'm entering off-limits territory. But my hesitation only lasts a split-second. I open the door and step in, surveying the situation, trying to judge if my intrusion will be accepted or not. I am prepared for a barrage of harsh words, for a volley of leave-me-alones or go-aways. But they're not coming.

My eyes scan the stalls, I quickly find him sitting on the floor of the middle one, his back and head against the wall, his eyes closed. The expression on his face almost makes me wanna puke as well, but I rapidly swallow and control the urge. I address him by his name, his first name, the one I rarely use. My voice sounds soft, sympathetic. It surprises myself just how much so, it seems kinda wrong, like it doesn't belong to me.

I study his face, but it's like he hasn't even registered my presence. I wonder if he's too spaced out to notice or if he chooses to ignore me, like I'm an overzealous puppy that will go away if it's ignored long enough.

I move closer to him, unsure how to react. I'm not good at this, I'm like the anti-person when it comes to delicate touchy-feely stuff like this. I crouch down next to him, saying his name again, this time in a more urgent voice. He turns his head away from me just slightly, a gesture that tells me that he's at least acknowledging my presence, but not welcoming it. Yeah, big surprise there.

I touch his shoulder, carefully, like a mother waking up her child without wanting to frighten it. I am surprised and rattled at what my hand feels. 'Jeez, you're shaking,' I hear myself say. Like an automatic reflex reaction, I take him by the upper arms and tug at him to get up. 'Come on, let's get you outta here,' I mutter.

**Adam:**

I hear Grace's voice calling my name. But I don't care. She calls my name again. I try to ignore her, try to drown out anything bothering me from beyond that place that I have been retreating to inside my head.

But she won't be kept from intruding into my own little world by my ignoring her presence. I feel her hands taking hold of my arms. 'Jeez, you're shaking!' Am I? Now that she says it, I can feel the cold floor tiles beneath me and the cool draft of air wafting in through the open window.

I let her pull me up. It's like I have no free will anymore, all I can manage is to obey her commands. She tells me to get cleaned up. So I walk over to the sink and half-heartedly rinse my mouth and face. Grace flushes the toilet behind me. I feel like a 3-year-old all over again, like a helpless toddler in need of assistance for even the simplest tasks.

But somehow I'm glad she's here, because otherwise I would not have been able to gather the strength to get myself off the floor. I dare catch a glimpse at my reflection in the mirror. A haunted face with bloodshot eyes is looking back at me. A face I suddenly feel strong revulsion against. I pull the hood of my burgundy hoody over my head, trying to hide underneath the soft fabric of my cotton shelter, lulled by the false sense of security that it can keep everything and everyone as far away from me as possible.

I leave the men's room, Grace trailing close behind. In silence we walk along the now empty school hallways. I try not to be reminded of Jane as we walk past the classroom doors and the lockers. Everything seems to scream her name at me, so I give my best to stare ahead, my hood acting like blinkers on a horse's harness.


	15. This world of sorrow and cruelty

--...----...----...--

**_This world of sorrow and cruelty..._**

.:. insert picture of Joan, curled up on her bed .:.

**Joan:**

I open the front door and walk into the living room. Mom is in the dining area, wiping the table with a wet cloth. I try to avert my eyes, so that she doesn't see I've been crying. There will be a time when she will find out that Adam and I broke up, but it is not now. She greets me with her usual warm voice, one that manages to translate her motherly love and caring with only a few words.

Without looking up from her chores, she casually enquires how mock trial went. I know that if I don't reply, she will immediately know something is wrong, but if I open my mouth now, I will start crying again. So I walk straight to the stairs and go up to my room, locking the door behind me.

I drop my jacket and bag carelessly onto the floor and curl up on my bed. Blurry images of Adam float before my eyes. I try to shut them out, but don't succeed. I don't know if I'm crying or not, I don't care. Emotions coarse through me and threaten to choke me, rob me of my will to face this world of sorrow and cruelty. All of the confusion circling round and round in my brain like a maelstrom coalesces into one word, one question: Why?

Why me? Why Bonnie? Why now? Why at all?

I hear a rapping on my door and hear Mom's voice. Even though it is muffled by the plywood barrier between me and her, I can hear that it is laden with concern when she calls my name and pleads for me to open the door. But I don't want to see anyone right now, although a part of me yearns for her soothing words and her hands stroking my back in comfort, her uncanny ability to find the right things to say in even the grimmest of times. She asks again if I'm okay and would I please open the door. When I don't answer or make a move to get up, she finally abandons her efforts and leaves, but not without letting me know that she will be downstairs if I want to talk. 'Later, Mom,' I mentally tell her.

**Luke:**

'That little bastard! He'll pay for this,' is all I can think. The need to punch his face in overwhelms me when I think back on how my sister runs all teary-eyed and broken from the mock court room. If Grace hadn't stopped me, I would have done it right there and then. I don't know why she stopped me, but I guess she had her reasons. She's known the little weasel for the better part of her life, so I figure she's gonna put him in his place. If not, I'll do it, I swear.

I tried to catch Joan after she stormed off after mock trial, but she got on the bus before I could reach it in time. I enter our house with mixed feelings, dread most of all. I know Joan always pretends to be tough, to pick herself up from the failures and blows life deals her. Sometimes it seems to me that she intentionally throws herself into some project or other that is just bound to fail, embarrass her or make her look stupid. But this is different. This is not something she chose voluntarily. And I know how much she was all over Rove, how much he meant to her, and how her world must have shattered and crumbled to pieces today.

When I take off my jacket and hang it on the coat rack, Mom looks at me with a frown of worry etched deep into her features. I can only imagine that Joan must have come home but gone to lock herself in her room without a word. It's what she does when she's upset. Mom asks me if I know what happened. I tell her she and Adam broke up. Her face sags, I can see she feels Joan's pain, probably having gone through it in her life herself at one time or another. She asks me for details. 'I think you should hear it from her herself, Mom,' I let her know. She just nods. I tell her I'm gonna try to talk to Joan.

I walk up the stairs, trying to come up with something smart to say to my sister. But all I can think of are metaphors that stem from mathematics, chemistry or physics. Or the different ways I am coming up with to smash Rove's face in. That sure won't be helping her right now. I reach her door and knock. Softly but insistently I urge her to open the door and let me talk to her. I wait for half a minute or so before I try again. I am not having more success than Mom.

I remember the time when Kevin and Joan had gotten into a fight and Kevin had intentionally cut a hole in Joan's favorite sweater when she was 12. She had locked herself in her room for hours before she had come out. Sighing, I resign. She would come out eventually, and I know that no prodding and begging would help now.

Downstairs, the frown has worked its way onto Mom's forehead again. I let her know that our best option is to try again later and poorly fail at trying to reassure her Joan's gonna be all right. I am suddenly overcome by a sensation I can't quite place that makes me not want to be alone in my room right at this moment. So I grab my rucksack, unpack my exercise book and Latin textbook and sit down at the table with Mom still bustling around in the kitchen. Nothing like Latin translations to get your mind off the things that really matter.

--...----...----...--

**Author's Note:**  
_Is anyone other than Tote and me enjoying this? It would really help if you let me know if I'm going somewhere you think I should be or should not be going. Not that I'm saying it's not worth writing further just for Tote's and my sake, but it would really help make the muse come out of the dog house to get some more feedback. Woof! _:o)


	16. Wanna grab a coffee or something?

--...----...----...--

**_Wanna grab a coffee or something?_**

.:. insert picture of Grace and Adam, walking alongside each other through the school front yard.:.

**Grace:**

Man, Rove's a real mess. I look at him, or rather at his hood, which he has pulled deeply over his dark-haired head as we're walking out of the school. This is his mother's suicide all over again. Only now it's worse because it's his own fault. So, what am I supposed to do? Lamely, I ask, 'Wanna grab a coffee or something?'

I take his silence as a no. His steps pick up speed, it seems he has finally found a new purpose, a place he has picked as his next target. His steps become almost too fast for me to catch up with. 'Rove, where are you going?' I ask him.

He stops and looks at me, as if he sees me for the first time. Somehow it's as if he had forgotten that I was walking next to him. His voice is icy, bitter. 'What do you care? Why are you still here anyway?' I look back at him, my gaze piercing into his, just so I can make him understand that I'm not only Joan's friend. I answer, 'Joan has Luke, Kevin, her parents. You have ' I pause. 'Well, me.' As an afterthought, I add, 'Take it or leave it.'

In a tone of voice that hovers between anger, self-pity and capitulation, I hear him say, 'You know, Grace, just leave me alone, okay?'

He picks up his step again and walks away, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. For a split second I consider going after him, but maybe he's right, he needs some space to sort out all the emotions and bring some order into the confusion. I let him go while an uncharacteristic feeling of deep sympathy and pity rushes over me. I try to shake it off, because, well, I'm Grace, the rebel, the detached one. Or maybe that's just who I'd like to be. Or try to be, at any rate.

I adjust the strap of the bag on my shoulder and walk off. Home sounds like a good idea, but a little voice inside of me tells me I should touch base with Luke about Girardi first.


	17. He asked me to, okay?

--...----...----...--

**_He asked me to, okay?_**

.:. insert picture of Grace sitting on the floor, leaning her back against  
the side of Joan's bed with Joan lying belly-down on it .:.

**Luke:**

Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet. I try to wrap my head around the translation of Martialis Lib.1. He mourns honestly who mourns without witnesses. How fitting. I contemplate this when I hear the doorbell going off. At this point any distraction is welcome, so I put the pen down that I have been chewing on for the past five minutes and go to open the door. A familiar face looks at me, her blue eyes piercing me with a look that bears concern and a tinge of sadness that I'm not accustomed to seeing. Her glance lacks the familiar fierce determination and readiness to take on anyone who challenges her.

'Grace,' I speak her name, surprised by her so unexpectedly standing in front of me. But then, I shouldn't be startled. Next to the little weasel, she is Joan's best friend. Although I never pictured her as a caring and worrying nature, it is only natural that she wants to check on Joan. Oh, how I hope she gave Rove the punishment he deserved!

Even though her eyes betray her usually cool exterior, her voice doesn't. With her usual gruff tone, she asks me, 'Look, geek-boy, can I come in or are you just gonna stare at me standing on your front porch?' Sheepishly, I step aside to let her in. She trudges into our living area like this is her home, letting her bag drop next to the kitchen table, plopping down on one of the chairs. She waits for me, expects me to sit down as well. I do as her unspoken command tells me.

I don't wait for her to ask. 'Joan's locked herself in her room and won't let anyone in.' If you look close enough, you can see a faintly passing shadow clouding her eyes. Almost undetectable, but I notice it anyway. She hurts for Joan as much as I do. She places her arms on the table, intertwining her hands as if to take my attention away from her coral blue eyes that remind me of solitary lagoons in a rain forest. I mentally push aside any thoughts of skinny dipping that have suddenly popped into my head, seemingly out of nowhere.

'You think she'll talk to me?' she asks me. I shrug my shoulders helplessly. I have long since stopped trying to figure out my sister. 'I don't know,' I reply. 'Guess it's worth a try.'

Together, we walk up the stairs and stop in front of Joan's door. Grace knocks, more softly than I would have expected from her, just as her voice when she says, 'Girardi, you can't hide in there forever. No guy is worth doing that to yourself, not even Rove.' She pauses for a moment and I watch her listening intently for any indication of movement on the other side of the door. 'Look, I'm not gonna leave this spot until you open the door, so don't try me. I will start singing if I have to, so you better not--' Grace's eyes widen a notch as she is interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock and the door opening just a crack.

When I move to enter the room with her, she lightly touches my arm, signaling me that this is a girls-only situation. I nod understandingly and tell her, 'I'll be in my room, okay?'

**Grace:**

I silently close the door behind me as I enter her room. I have only been here a few times before, but I vividly remember the faint smell of body lotion and perfume and also the clutter of worn clothes and stuffed animals littering the chairs and the display of memorabilia, photos and posters on the walls, shelves and dressers. Girardi is lying on her bed, her face buried in her arms. I am not sure if she's ready to talk, but I suppose her opening the door to me is a sign that she is open for it at least. I sit down in front of her bed with my back leaning against the side of it. As matter-of-factly as I can, I tell her, 'Look, if you're waiting for something lame like "I'm sorry" or "It's gonna be okay", you're not gonna hear it from me. It's not like I have the manual on how to deal with shit like this. All I know is, this sucks big time.'

She snorts out a half-laugh that almost mocks my words. 'Suck doesn't begin to describe it,' she replies in a teary sort of voice that she is trying to make it sound composed. She snuffles her nose once. 'This whole thing was doomed from the beginning, wasn't it?' Anger is creeping into her voice, denial mixed with it. 'This whole thing was just too perfect from the start,' she almost spits out. 'What boyfriend could ever be that understanding, that caring, loving and considerate without any obvious flaws? I should have seen it coming, I should have read the signs.'

I open my mouth to say something, but am at an uncharacteristic loss for words. But she plows on, like she's in the zone. A volcano spewing hot ashes, her words like fiery chunks of lava. 'How could I ever think that he truly loved me? How could I think he would wait until I was ready? If it was ultimately about sex, then why did he pretend he cared about me? I mean, was any of that ever real? And if it was, why did he sleep with B--' She chokes on the name, circumnavigates it, '... with that little freak?'

I close my eyes for a few seconds because I don't have the answers she so badly wants. 'Look, dude, I understand it as little as you do. I don't know why he did it. I doubt he even really knows himself.'

I suddenly feel her shift on the bed, see her legs appearing next to me. She gets up and paces the room. Then she stops in front of me and looks at me, accusingly. Her stare incriminates me and I the tension rises to an almost tangible level even before she speaks her next words. 'You knew, didn't you? You knew and didn't tell me.' I see her eyes tearing up again. 'How long have you known?'

I swallow involuntarily because there is no easy way out of this. I look down because somehow I'm ashamed of myself now. I should be used to being played tug-of-war with by now. In a quiet tone, I say the only thing I can say: the truth. 'He told me the day before mock trial.' I look up at her again, studying her reaction, bracing myself mentally for another explosion, another volley of angry words. Give it to me, Girardi, I'm used to verbal abuse. Maybe I even deserve some of it.

But she only goes all quiet on me. That's much harder to bear than harsh outbursts. In a voice that doesn't betray her disappointment in me, she quietly asks, 'Why didn't you tell me?' I still look her in the eyes and feel a small wave of anger welling up inside me as well. Anger at me being stuck in the middle again, anger at having to defend myself for things that I did not have any voluntary part in, things I was not asked to do or actions I wasn't asked to defend. Defensively, I lash out, 'He asked me to, okay?'

Girardi raises an eyebrow. Oh yeah, now she's in full flight. 'He asked you to, huh? So that's where your loyalties lie, I see.'

I cannot bite down on the fury of the unfairness of the situation any longer. 'We're talking about loyalties now? Would I be here if I wasn't loyal to you too? Look, I don't condone his actions, but we've been friends for God knows how long, and I'm not just gonna throw that away because he made a mistake that put me in the middle of this.' I get up from my sitting position, so I feel I have more leverage in our war of words.

She counters me yet again. 'A mistake, is that what you're calling it? Like something you can just delete with an eraser and fix with another ink stroke?'

I want to reply something heated, yet poignant, but then realize this is only going to deteriorate a situation already gone from bad to worse. I turn around and walk to the door, then face her again. In an almost soothing tone, I tell her, 'I can understand that you're angry and all, but this is not going anywhere. I don't wanna fight. I wasn't asked to be put in this position, yet here I am. As hard as you may find it, I'm your friend, Girardi, but I'm also _his_ friend and I won't badmouth Rove. If you can accept that, you know where to find me.' After having informed her about this, I walk out of her room.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Luke standing in the doorway to his room. No doubt he has heard us verbally combating. I walk down the stairs without a word to him. I can feel him, hear him tentatively following me. I can sense his insecurity at how to best approach me without me blowing off in his face. I almost smile at that. Having reached the downstairs hallway to the front door, I hear him say, 'Grace, I'm sure she didn't mean it. She's just angry and confused.' I turn around and give him as friendly a face as I can make right now. "I know, geek. She has a lot to digest. Anyone would be confused right now. I don't blame her, so don't worry. Look, I'll come back tomorrow, okay?"

He looks at me, like he wants to ask me to stay, but I need to figure out this whole situation myself. No doing that while the Girardi family physically lingers around me. I know I will falter if I hold his gaze any longer and wait for him to try and persuade me not to go. So I turn around, open the door and walk out. I don't see him, but I can only imagine he is now leaning on the doorframe, staring at me leaving.


	18. Always Jane

**Author's Note:**  
_Some of this might seem familiar if you've read my first post-Trial And Error piece, called "After The Fall" (also posted here on FFN). For a while I wasn't sure if I should incorporate it into this story or if I should head in another direction with this one, but if I hadn't used the scene the way I first wrote it, I would have felt like I wasn't true to myself. So I decided to actually put it in here with a few minor modifications and additions. You'll see what I mean in the next two chapters._

--...----...----...--

**_Always Jane..._**

.:. insert picture of Adam, walking along Alexander Drive  
with his hood over his head, looking down .:.

**Adam:**

I walk home the last few yards from the bus stop. It's as if I'm working on auto-pilot. I don't realize where I'm going, but yet my feet seem to know where to step, as if steered by an invisible force. I don't consciously notice Mrs. Halloway greeting me with her usually cheerful wave from across the picket fence as I walk by her house with the immaculately maintained lawn and flower beds.

My thoughts are still floating, ever floating in a place that seems oddly detached from reality. I think of nothing specific and let the fragments of stray, ghostlike strings of thought trail around my brain. Bits and pieces come and go, pictures of Jane mostly. Jane in a flowered skirt and beige top, chasing after a sheet of homework that is being blown away by a gust of wind in the school yard. Jane chewing on the top of her pencil in chemistry class. Jane sitting next to me on the roof of the school, babbling on about something or other. Always Jane.

I walk faster, as if that could make me escape my mental torture chamber. I arrive at the door to my shed. I hesitate for a second before opening it, as if I'm afraid of what's inside. Familiar surroundings greet me, accompanied by an oh-so familiar smell of sawdust mixing with freshly welded metal. I have spent more hours in this shed than I have in my own bedroom, I know every nook and corner of it. I half-heartedly throw my bag to the floor and sit down on the stool at the work bench. Everything seems to remind me of her, seems to scream her name at me. I remember seeing her hesitatingly opening the door into the shed as she enters it for the first time, stepping inside carefully, surveying the crammed shelves with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

I can't take this any longer and look for something, _anything_ to occupy my mind with. Anything to push away the pictures and memories of Jane chasing each other around my brain. I pick up a board of hardwood and the electric padsaw. Almost automatically, I don the goggles and suede work gloves before I hit the on-switch of the saw. I had been wanting to use pieces of wood for a sculpture I was building. Pieces of a board that I would saw into smaller chunks, yet still big enough to paint pictures on. I adjust the board of wood and take the saw into my right hand. With a familiar sound, the blade begins to vibrate up and down, cutting into the wood as I apply pressure in the right places. I let my hands guide the board and the saw to produce smaller pieces of no particular shape.

The sound of the saw has an almost lulling quality, so my mind inevitably starts wandering again. Wandering down that path I don't want to walk but yet am compelled to, like I'm drawn there by something too powerful to resist.

I suddenly jump up as I feel a sharp pain in my left index finger, throwing over the stool that was behind me. I jerk my hand away, the board cluttering to the floor. I watch as the tear in the fabric of the glove slowly turns red. Instinctively, I pull the gloves and goggles off, sluggishly realizing that I must have cut my finger on the saw blade. I tentatively squeeze the cut with my right hand to assess the damage. It doesn't seem more than a moderately superficial cut. 'Guess you got lucky,' I think to myself. 'You could have sawn your finger off, Rove.'

I keep squeezing the cut, so that the blood oozes out, a perfectly oval shaped bubble forming on my skin, deeply crimson in color. I can slowly feel the first rush of adrenaline subsiding and feel the pain kicking in. A sort of bittersweet pain that bitterly hurts but sweetly surmounts any other kind of pain.

I watch a drop of blood falling to the floor, and yet I keep squeezing because the pain I feel through that makes any thoughts of Jane keep out of my head. But not for long, there she was again, sneaking her way in again. I let go of my finger, not caring about stopping the flow of blood.

Slowly, the events of this afternoon come rushing back to me. I hear her last words to me reverberating in my head. 'You gave her a part of yourself because I wouldn't sleep with you. You had my heart, Adam. That's what you took when you went to hook up with her. We're done. It's over.' Her words repeat in a loop like a stuck record, growing louder and more persistent every time I replay the scene in my mind. Tears inevitably spring into my eyes. Listlessly, I sag against the desk behind me, sliding to the floor into a sitting position. All the misery washes over me like a heat wave in summer, so intense that I barely have any air left to breathe.

Bonnie's huge, doll-eyes look at me, the two of us just having shared our bodily passion, two teenagers hungry for the same intimate physical contact. Her delicate hands seeking out the places of my hormone-raged body that make me want to sigh in delight. How exactly we had ended up in her bed together, I can't even remember. We had been going over one of Mrs. G's arts assignments one moment, and the next I felt her soft lips on mine, her fingers sliding up my naked back under my t-shirt. From that point on, there had been no stopping. It was as if my mind had been replaced with someone else's.

Now I realize with shocking lucidity that I should have put a stop to it right there, right then. I should not have let her guide me expertly into her bed, her hands never leaving my slender body. Somehow she had put a spell on me, one I had no counter curse for. The time afterwards had been anticlimactic. My mind switched from biochemically induced bliss to unequivocally vivid common sense when Bonnie settled herself my lap after we had gotten dressed. For her it was as if this was the most natural thing in the world. In her world maybe. My world, now galaxies away from hers, was just shattering into a thousand pieces. There was nothing I could do but just take my things and leave. Only when I felt the door to her apartment click into its lock behind me, I realized that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.

And then there were Jane's hurt and betrayed eyes, tear-filled and so sad, accusing me with fierce anger and a world of disbelief and pain. I could read her question, the biggest one that she didn't actually ask, but didn't need to. 'Why?'

Yes, why? Why exactly had I done it? Why had I not been strong enough to resist? Why had I risked the biggest joy in my life and lost it? I vaguely remember a feeling of schadenfreude when I had slept with Bonnie. It was not a feeling you delve in and embrace, it was a feeling that you try to push away and forget as soon as you realize it's there. It had only lasted a split second, but it had undeniably been present, like a shadow from a darkly grey rain cloud overcasting an otherwise perfect sky, being blown in, lingering to shed its moisture and then blown away again. Now I wonder if sleeping with Bonnie had also been a small act of defiance. Of defiance against Jane not wanting to sleep with me in the camper, or any time after that. I had been trying so hard to persuade myself that our relationship wasn't about sex, that we had time, that I could wait until she was ready for it. Who had I been kidding?

Maybe I thought that finally doing it, with anybody who was willing and able, would free me in ways that I couldn't imagine. It didn't. If anything, it had trapped me, trapped me inside this hellhole of misery, guilt and shame. I am writhing in it, trying to find a way out of the trap, but the more I tug and move, the tighter it grips me. In all of that, I see her face before me again, the one that accuses me and looks at me with a lack of understanding of why her world had so suddenly been tumbling down. I don't even notice that tears are dropping from my face to the floor, mingling with the drops of blood in the stray wood shavings. I bury my head in my folded arms resting on my knees.


	19. I thought you should know

**Author's Note:**  
_Some of this might seem familiar if you've read my first post-Trial And Error piece, called "After The Fall" (also posted here on FFN). For a while I wasn't sure if I should incorporate it into this story or if I should head in another direction with this one, but if I hadn't used the scene the way I first wrote it, I would have felt like I wasn't true to myself. So I decided to actually put it in here with a few minor modifications and additions. You'll see what I mean in this chapter and the previous one. _

_This is all I have written and planned for this story so far, and I have no idea how long I can keep this story up with so many other ideas floating around in my head. Leave a review and push me if you really want me to go on. _:o)

--...----...----...--

**_I thought you should know..._**

.:. insert picture of Adam sitting on the floor in his shed, his back against a wooden desk .:.

**Grace:**

Man, I can't stand sitting around in my room. There is just something entirely oppressive about it tonight. I grab my leather jacket and leave. I ignore the rabbi asking where I'm going at this hour. I walk around the block, not really having picked out a destination. Surprisingly, I find myself walking up Adam's street, Alexander Drive. When I look up, I see a light on in the shed. I hesitate for a second or two, but can't control the urge to check on him. Something deep inside keeps ringing the tiny, gentle alarm bell that screams 'suicide family history'.

When I peek through the window, I don't see him. A feeling of uneasy worry creeps up my belly to my stomach. I push open the door, almost too abruptly. 'Rove?' I ask, hearing that my voice is tinged with unfamiliar worry. The question hangs uncomfortably in the silent room for two seconds. I repeat his name. 'Rove, you in here?'

I hear his voice, and the worry is replaced with immediate relief. In a tone that doesn't belie that he's been crying, he abrasively tells me, 'Go away. Just leave me alone.'

Yeah, like hell I am going away now! I carefully walk over to the work bench, behind which I can see him sitting on the floor, his face buried in the sleeves of his burgundy hoody. When hears me approach, he looks up at me, tears fresh in his eyes. I softly say his name, his first name, which still sounds strangely unfamiliar coming out of my mouth. He interrupts in just as harsh a tone. 'I said leave me alone, okay?'

Of course it's not really a question, and I'm not going to answer it, much less do as he says. I approach him, picking up the knocked over stool on the floor, sitting down on it opposite him. I study him. 'I don't think you really wanna be alone right now.'

There is silence, but it's not uncomfortable. It feels like a comfort zone, a place where no words are needed to support each other. The only sounds are intermittent sniffing sounds from him. I can see his shoulders heaving ever so slightly. I resist a sudden urge to put my arms around him in comfort, but decide against it, it would be just wrong.

We sit like this for a few minutes. Then lifts his head, looking up at me, wiping at his tears with his shirt sleeves. In a tone not as abrasive as before, he asks me, 'What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be with Joan?'

I shrug almost imperceptibly. 'She yelled at me for not talking to her after you had told me. Things got a little heated, so I bolted. I think she needs some time to figure things out.' His eyes cloud over with a mist of pain that he doesn't bother hiding. He buries his face in his hands and it's only then I see that his left index finger is completely blood-smeared. I point at it. 'Dude, what happened?'

He stares at it, as if he has forgotten that there was anything unusual about the red stains and little streams down the skin of his finger and parts of his hand. Matter-of-factly but not convincingly, he says, 'I cut myself.'

'Not on purpose, I hope,' escapes my lips. He looks at me with a sudden clarity in his eyes, the first time that I feel like I have gotten through to him since I entered his shed. 'What?' he asks, realizing what I'm implying. 'No, it was an accident,' he denies in a sincere tone, so that I believe him.

I crouch down so that I'm level with him and carefully take his hand. 'Let me see,' I demand. I study the cut, it doesn't look like it needs stitches. 'You got a band aid or something?' He directs me to the first aid kit in one of the shelves and I tend to his wound as best I can with the means I have at hand. He doesn't resist or even flinch as I use the disinfectant on the open cut. When I'm done, I sit back on the stool. Not looking at me, he asks, 'How could I have been so stupid? What was I thinking?'

I know he doesn't mean the cut on his finger, and I wish I had something smart to say to him right now. Something to help him deal with the confusion. But I don't. Nor did I and do I understand his motivations, but somehow I get the feeling he doesn't either. 'I don't have any answers for you, Rove. As far as I'm concerned, I would have to agree, it was a gigantically stupid thing to do,' I tell him.

I see his eyes filling with tears again. 'Grace, she was my best friend. She loved me, she trusted me,' he says just above a whisper. 'And I went and ... and screwed Bonnie. I ... I don't remember how ... well, it kinda just happened. I didn't really want it, but somehow I did. It felt so right then, and it feels so wrong now.' He wipes away a tear from his cheek. 'I destroyed everything we had. Just like that. Why did I take that away? Why did I ever take that away? Why?'

I shake my head. This is one question that I can't answer for him if he doesn't know himself. I can see the remorse spilling out of him, but it's not me he should be telling this to. I hear him ask me, 'Do you think she is ever going to forgive me?'

Good question. I'm not sure myself. Would Girardi forgive him? 'I--' I start. 'I don't know. You really hurt her. I don't think she's gonna forget that so easily. She might forgive you eventually. How long that will take, I can't say.'

He looks up at me with a desperate, almost hopeful look and sniffles his nose. 'What am I going to do now?'

I look back at him. 'You need to give her time.' Almost embarrassed, I fish a kleenex from my jacket pocket and hand it to him. He silently takes it, muttering thanks. As he blows his nose, I look out the window, past the clutter of plastic and metal things stuffed into every vacant bit of shelf or space in the shed. It has long since turned dark outside. I stand up from the stool and extend my hand towards him. 'Come on, Rove, it's late.'

He looks up at me, confusion in his gaze, a colossal question mark written in it. Like an ancient computer processor, he takes a few seconds to process my words. In a whispering tone, he says, 'Yeah.' and takes my hand. I pull him up and take him to the house. I doubt his dad knows what's going on. When we go through the house, I hear the television running in the living room, but I take Adam straight to his bedroom. He doesn't resist or speak, it's as if I'm pulling the strings of a lifeless puppet. I lead him to his bed, upon which he sits down with slumped shoulders. 'Get some sleep, okay?' I tell him as I turn to leave. We both know there is no way he will get a decent night's sleep tonight.

As I am about the leave his room, I remember something. Something that I need to make clear to him. I turn back around and face him. 'Oh, Rove, just so you know. I'm on Girardi's side here. What you did to her, there's nothing to justify that, no excuse to explain that. I thought you should know.'

He looks at me with a blank expression and just nods. Almost imperceptibly, he says, 'Okay.'

I walk down the stairs and leave the house. The door lock clicks into place behind me as the door closes. God, how I hate being put in the position of mediator! I mean, both Rove and Girardi are my friends. As if I don't have enough stuff to deal with at home. But if my friendship with Rove and Girardi has taught me anything, it is that friends are there to help you out when you don't think there is any hope left.

I catch myself silently asking God for hope that somehow Rove and Girardi can work out their problems and maybe even find a way back to each other. Of course there is no saying that they will ever be able to work past this, but there comes a time where you need to have a little faith in God to make things right, to put things back together. I snort out a half-laugh and a small smile plays at my lips. If the rabbi could read my thoughts now...


	20. In 24 hours

**Author's Note:**  
_Sorry this took so long to update, but I've had so many fanfic ideas floating around in my head that I didn't know what to write first, with the result of having at least three things in the works at once, which is never a good thing for me. Anyways, I haven't forgotten this one, and I will hopefully continue this as time moves on. Just bear with me (and review, please!)._

--...----...----...--

_**In 24 hours...**_

.:. insert picture of Adam, standing at the bathroom  
sink at night in boxer shorts and a t-shirt .:.

**Adam:**

_A golden ray of early morning sunlight shines through the window and illuminates a once soft and warm looking face, rimmed by brown, curling locks. The face of the middle-aged woman has now gone hard and sad and determined as she is sitting at the kitchen table. She takes the weathered and beaten leather-bound notebook in her hands and opens it on the first page that is not filled with drawings and sketches, most in pencil or simple black ink. _

_She puts the notebook down on the table in front of her, pensively placing the pencil's blunt top end to her pursed lips, twisting it round from side to side. She starts doodling a few nondescript shapes, meaningless at first, but with every new pencil stroke forming into an intricate pattern. A snake coiling round a tree's branch. As she starts shading the branch, she stops, forlorn. It's like a thought has suddenly appeared in her head that paralyzes her._

_Slowly, she puts the pencil to paper again, writing words. I can just make them out in her curved handwriting—and it looks familiar, so familiar. She writes something that I see and read, word for word, as she writes it: In 24 hours they'll be laying flowers on my life. It's over tonight. I'm not messing, no, I need your blessing and your promise to live free. Please do it for me._

_As the implication seeps through, I realize I should be shocked, alarmed at the very least. But I'm not, I'm as calm as the surface of a lake in a lull of the wind—and I don't know why. _

_Then, suddenly, the scene shifts and the light is not a golden yellow anymore. It has changed to an annoying, alternating red and blue, flashing and blinking. And in the middle of it, there's a gurney and a black plastic cover over it and paramedics and my dad with an expression on his face that haunts me to this day._

_I stare at the gurney, and suddenly the black cover moves ever so slightly, sliding away from the body it is covering. A torso rises and I see her pale and lifeless face staring at me with empty, dead eyes, her mouth opening and wordlessly mouthing something I can't understand. I fight a sob working up my throat and cry out, "Mom? I can't understand you, Mom!"_

_But the paramedics push the gurney into the ambulance. I start towards it, but before I can reach it, they slam the doors shut from the inside. It is all I can do to throw my open palms on the cold metal of the ambulance doors and hammer on them, screaming, "Stop! Open up! She wanted to tell me something. Please, I gotta know! Please!"_

With a sudden movement, I jerk to wakefulness, sitting up in my bed. I can feel my sweat-drenched t shirt clinging to my back. I pant, catching my breath, trying to wrap my head around the fact that it was just a dream. No, not _just_ a dream, not just a nightmare that will go away in the morning when you wake up to the aromatic scent of freshly baked eggs and coffee. No, this one doesn't go away in the morning when I wake up, because no matter where and when I do, my mother is still dead.

I get up and tiptoe into the bathroom on bare feet as quietly as I can, I don't want to wake Dad in the middle of the night. I splash cold water on my face and try to wash away the last images of the dream still floating too freshly round my mind. I put my hands on the edge of the sink and lean forward. The face that stares back at me has red-rimmed eyes from too much crying and too little sleep and shadows under the eyes approaching the depth and darkness of the night sky in bad weather. I haven't dreamed about my mother in a long time—not since Jane and I kissed at the science fair.

Jane. She appears in my head like a sweet cherry that is red and juicy on the outside, but rotten at the core. A feeling of lifelessness sweeps over me, sucking away all of the little energy I still have left. It takes all my strength to towel off the water droplets on my face and go back to bed. I fold my arms behind my head and stare at the plain, white ceiling. There are no edges or smudges or holes in it that I could study, but the moonlight makes an undefined shadow appear on it. The tree outside my window that is swaying in the light breeze paints moving, colorless pictures on the ceiling and walls, and I take them in.

As hard as I try, everything I see in them makes me think of Jane and of the horrible past weekend that followed mock trial. Tomorrow, I will have to face her in school, and I dread it, knowing it won't be anything like the times when the simple sight of her would make my heart skip an ecstatic beat or put a smile upon my face. This will be completely different—and I don't want to picture it.

Scenarios run through my head like water through a sieve, never stopping. Jane walking past me, ignoring me completely. Jane facing me, telling something cold and heartless to my face. Jane coming at me, fiercely yelling accusations at me. Jane silently sitting down next to me in AP Chem, head bowed and tears just a hairbreadth away from forming in her incredible and soulful eyes. It's that last scenario that haunts me most, driving the pain ever deeper. I think I can stand defiance, disregard, anger or even flat-out aggression, but the one thing I won't be able to face is quiet pain and hurting, because I've had too much of that myself already.

I hardly notice as more tears are slowly rolling down my cheeks, permeating into the checkered cotton fabric of my pillow. I hastily turn to lie on my side, angry at myself for not being stronger, for not having _been _stronger, more resistant to temptation. It's only fair that I'm being punished for my own stupidity, but it still drives the bittersweet pain too deep, deeper than I think I can stand.

I close my eyes and try to ban any emotion from my mind, not succeeding because the tears are still coming. I had forgotten a person could cry this much—I never thought I would ever again have to after—_No,_ I mentally chide myself, _I will not indulge in any more self-pity, not tonight._

I sit up again and reach for my discman on my bedside table. I put the earphones in my ears and hit the PLAY button. Ian Holm's British voice welcomes me, telling the tale of Frodo, the Hobbit, going on a quest to destroy a ring of power and evil. I need something to distract me from my mother and Bonnie and Jane and this miserable life I have been stuck in. And this will do the trick, as it has so many insomnia-laden nights before. As I concentrate all my effort on letting J.R.R. Tolkien transport me into Middle Earth; I can already feel exhaustion doing its part. Sooner rather than later, the fatigue will catch up with me and let me slip away into a restless sleep.


	21. Did you think it would be that easy?

**Author's Note:**  
_How is it that my most recent story "Sweet Crusader" has been up on FFN for a couple of days now and not ONE friggin' person has written a review? Was it that bad? Was it that far-fetched? Was it that cheesy? Okay, I should get over it. It's summer, people are probably smart enough to spend time outside instead of sitting in front of the internet. Not to mention vacations and summer camps. Yay for everyone who doesn't have to work right now. :o) (Hint: I'm not one of those... but I will be in August!)_

_Anyway, here's a little snippet that I just finished. Hope you enjoy it. And if you do, please please please leave a review, that would totally make my sorry and anticlimactic day. Oh, and can I just say: Thank you to everyone who has left a review so far on any of my stories! It really helps wanting to write more. You don't know how much I appreciate it!_

_Music fact: Listening to Jem's "Falling For You" makes me want to write something about Joan and Adam's beginnings, but—alas—I'm stuck with this. Not that I'm enjoying it any less._

--...----...----...--

_**Did you really think it would be that easy?**_

.:. insert picture of Joan, standing in front of her  
pin board, taking a photo of Adam off it .:.

**Joan:**

Today is the day. The day I've been dreading the whole weekend. It's been following me ever since I came home on Friday, like a ball and chain I can't shake off. He appears in front of my eyes—Adam, the root of all evil.

Adam, Adam, Adam. I hate him, hate him, hate him. I hate his sorry face, the little cheating rat. How could he? I trusted him, I loved him. And he went and screwed Bonnie. God, it makes me so angry! How could I have been so stupid? How could I have put my trust in him, thinking he loved me as much as I loved him? How could I not have noticed something was going on?

When did he start changing from the perfect boyfriend to the perfect liar, the perfect cheater, I wonder. How did I ever deserve this? How could my immaculately shaped plans crumble to dust so suddenly, so rapidly? And how could he honestly sit there, telling me he still loved me? Yeah, right! Fuck you, Adam Rove! You can't love me if you go and sleep with the little freak while I'm the person you come to for moral support.

And how can you think that I will ever forgive you? How can you even expect that after what you did? Did you not notice what it would do to me, to us? And how did you think this was going to work out? Just a hook-up... And how was that going to work? Would she be the outlet for your physical needs when I wasn't ready to give you the whole of my body on top of my heart and soul that I had already promised to you? Did you really think it would be that easy?

I walk over to my pin board and take a photo of you off it, take a black marker and whisk it across your face, hoping it would blot out your face in my mind along with it. Which isn't working, so I throw myself onto my bed on my stomach, tearing the photo up into little shreds, letting them fall onto my bedspread. I don't want to see you in school today, because I already know it's gonna be awkward, hard, nerve-racking, heart-wrenching and scary.

I briefly consider putting on my best ailing expression and tell Mom that I'm sick and have to stay home. But somehow I know she will see right through my disguise, so why not quit trying and spare myself the embarrassment? I don't wanna go to school. I don't want to, don't want to, don't want to. Will it come true if I repeat it in my mind often enough?

I hear a knock on my door, and my mother's voice, telling me to get ready. I look down my body. I'm still in my pyjamas, haven't even been to the bathroom. I sigh, trying to turn my anger into something more motivating, but don't succeed.

My mom knocks again, her voice getting an irritated edge, then softening because she knows that I must be dreading this day. She almost pleads that I come out of my room and have some breakfast before going to school. I wearily sigh again and open the door, knowing it will shut her up for now. 'All right, Mom, I'm coming already.'

There's a slight look of relief as she sees me, not in tears or depressed or apathetic. Because I've been all of that the past two days, and much more. I never thought so many negative emotions could rage through you and overpower you, never thought there was that much fluid in my body to leave my tear ducts. But all that's left for now is anger. Anger I can deal with. Anger I can channel and use and wear around me like a cloak that makes me unsusceptible to being hurt again. For now I'll stick with that and hold on to it.

I stomp into the bathroom with renewed energy and start washing my hair, inwardly cursing Adam Rove and thinking about how I am so above him ever affecting me in any way. He doesn't deserve that, so I won't let it happen again.


End file.
